


nightlight

by jockohomo



Series: extensions [1]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/M, Gay Male Character, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Morning After, Trans Female Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, if you can call it love, or: shimura feels no attraction to mido but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jockohomo/pseuds/jockohomo
Summary: Shimura woke up on his couch.
Relationships: Midou Shingo/Shimura Suguru
Series: extensions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1067228
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	nightlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empathy_junkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empathy_junkie/gifts).



> content warnings for sexual references (nothing at all explicit), mentions of alcohol, really profound self-loathing, the aftermath of a pair of friends with non-compatible gender/sexual identities sleeping together, and generally not healthy relationships. this is kind of a dreary fic - happy birthday, lev! don't be too sad!
> 
> this technically takes place during the manga timeline (a couple weeks after higuchi's death), so it isn't set in an alternate universe like the following fics in this series. however, since the events of the rest of this AU stem from canon, the events of this fic are still relevant to it. i figured i'd include it in the series as a prologue of sorts since it's relevant, even though it technically doesn't need to be in here. either way, i hope you enjoy!

Shimura awoke with a throbbing headache and a foul taste in his mouth.

 _“I love you, too.”_ Those were the last words she had spoken to him the night before, the last visages of some dying flame he had long since doused. He could hardly remember them now, just like he could hardly remember a lot of things, like the touch of her skin on his, the oppressive heat that had weighed on his limbs, the jacket that had previously enveloped his body now fallen to the floor. Last Shimura could remember, he had been on the couch and she had been on the carpet, the sound of the television fading into static. They were both on the couch now. He couldn’t hear the TV.

For a moment, he was unaware; for a moment, he had forgotten. Then he remembered and something dropped in his stomach.

Shimura pried his eyes open. The room was dimly lit by what small amount of light could fight its way through the light charcoal of the curtains, and the television had been muted at some point and left playing. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it; the light hurt his eyes, worsened the pounding in his head. A cold feeling had risen up on him; it stopped anything else from moving.

He had been confused last night. He had been alone in the dark with someone he loved, and she — she had been so _kind_. She had been generous with him, just like she always was — too generous, because any act of altruism was wasted on someone like him. Her touch had been so careful and her words had been so gentle and he was so undeserving that it was a sin, it was a sin for him to even accept her gestures. It was a sin for him to allow her to linger with him when she could be somewhere else, somewhere better.

But he had allowed it, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Shimura loved her, but he did not desire her — he doubted that he was capable of it. At the same time, in his mind, he had no right to deny her. He had uttered some form of praise and she had hushed him and moved to her knees and her hands had touched him. He had allowed it. Why wouldn’t he? After all she had so graciously done for him, how could he turn her away when she asked something of him?

He would have questioned it now; perhaps _she_ would have questioned it now. But then was not now, and when it had happened, all Shimura had been able to think through the haze was that whatever she asked for, she deserved to receive. So he had allowed it.

 _You let this happen,_ some part of him whispered, and he offered no rebuttal. He felt like death, but he had to rise. This mess was his fault, and he would deal with it. He had to.

Shimura pushed himself up and swung his legs off the couch, barely stifling a groan; he felt like someone had smashed a brick against his skull, and his stomach made a painful noise. This hurt. This fucking _hurt_. It was painful and he didn’t know what to do, what to say, so for a moment he buried his face in his hands and waited for the room to stop spinning. Dread was spreading through his body in waves.

 _You could have stopped this. You_ should _have stopped this. What if you hurt her? You know that nothing more could ever come from this._

Something stirred beside him and made a quiet, miserable noise. 

Mido was sitting there when he glanced painfully up from his hands, her legs bent awkwardly in front of her and face red with the imprint of a couch cushion. Her glasses had disappeared and her hair was sticking out in all directions. She might have been beautiful. He was sure that she had to be.

It hurt to look her in the eye. Shimura glanced at the door to the kitchen and, his throat like sandpaper, mumbled, “I’ll get breakfast started.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t do breakfast.”

Shimura looked back to her and felt the urge to shift away. She had a better alcohol tolerance than him, he knew that much — and so if he remembered parts of last night, she surely remembered more. The thought of it mortified him, certainly more than he had the right to let it. He forced himself not to look away and quickly realized that her eyes were searching him.

_She can’t tell if you remember or not. You’ve got to tell her._

“I — ”

“Hang on,” Mido interrupted with a sigh, pushing her feet to the floor and rising uncomfortably. “You look like shit. I’ll be right back.”

Shimura stared bemusedly after her as she left the room. There was a certain panic rising in his chest, as hard as he tried to stop it; he had done something unforgivable. He rose to his feet and struggled not to pace.

Mido returned with a glass of water and a couple pills of aspirin. He took it, and she hushed his thanks.

She was there. She was looking at him. If he didn’t say something soon, it would be too late.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Mido gave him an unimpressed look. “Only if you sit back down.”

Shimura seated himself reluctantly; this time, Mido occupied the armchair. He was brimming with shame, with self-condemnation, with spilt blood and torn photographs. 

_But you have to do this._

Shimura bit his lip. “Look,” he breathed, finally, “I just want to … I just want to apologize. For last night.”

After a moment, Mido’s lips contorted into a smile; it looked painful. “It’s fine. I’m the last person you need to apologize to, Suguru. I’ll just make sure to keep an eye on how much you drink next time.” She made a noise that sounded like a laugh — it was probably _supposed_ to be a laugh. He didn’t buy it. Maybe she would rather ignore what had happened last night, but he needed to say something, to give her some sort of solid ending. He would have to press on.

“You’re … you’re a very dear friend to me, Ayame. I just want you to know that — I’m sure you already _do_ know that.” Shimura’s throat hurt, but he coerced himself onwards. Her gaze had focused elsewhere. “I don’t want anything to … to _change_ that, either. God, I mean — I don’t know why I even — you’re a woman. I’m not — I couldn’t — you know, of all people, I’m not…” He swallowed. “I shouldn’t have let it happen. I don’t know why I did. Let’s both forget about it, okay? I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am, Ayame.”

At some point, his eyes had fallen to the floor. 

Mido’s voice was quiet. “Suguru, it wasn’t your fault.”

She assured him that, but he didn’t believe it. She assured him of plenty things that he didn’t believe — that he couldn’t _convince himself_ to believe, no matter how hard he tried. But he should be able to convince himself, for her sake. The fact that he was unable to was a crime. It was all a crime. He had nothing to say.

“Seriously.” Shimura’s voice was hardly above a whisper. His eyes remained fixed; when she cast him a troubled look, he didn’t notice it. “Let’s just move on.”

Mido didn’t press it. He was sure he had broken her heart.

**Author's Note:**

> to the uninitiated, this is a vague sequel to a fic of lev's. check it out here if you want: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269418
> 
> writing / editing music was tattooed tears by the front bottoms and software by nick lutsko.
> 
> https://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
